


All In a Day

by lauwerance



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, its pretty much just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 00:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20498039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lauwerance/pseuds/lauwerance
Summary: Just a few scenes of the assorted couples on the day after they win the strike.





	All In a Day

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic on here so hopefully it goes over well. (Also if there are any spelling or grammar errors, I'm sorry just bear with it; sometimes I write too fast for my own good.)

**Blink & Mush**

Mush was ecstatic. He had tried to be hopeful those few minutes before the rest of the working kids of New York had shown up, he really had, but there had always been that sinking feeling that no one would come. And then they had come pouring down the street towards the square and their cheering and yelling had been the most beautiful sound in the world. They had come from every borough, every corner of the city and filled the street in front of the World building, waving hands and signs and the newsies banner. When Jack had lifted Les up onto his shoulders and Les had raised his two little fists into the air and Jack had shouted “We beat ‘em!” out across the crowd, Mush believed it may have been the best moment of his life; followed only by the moment he had seen Roosevelt’s carriage with Jack still in it come around the corner. It had already been a hell of a day, and it wasn’t even over. He had papes under his arm to sell, a beautiful July afternoon ahead of him and a guarantee that the paper prices were staying at the regular 50 cents per 100.

And still, that wasn’t even the half of it. Not only did he have all those great things, but he had all of them with Blink at his side. He was there as they wove through the still gathered crowd, laughing and ruffling little kids’ hair and slapping other boys on the back. They hurried along together, Mush trying to hold onto him whenever he could, whether that be a tug on his shirt or catching his hand with a finger or an arm around his shoulders. They had been together for about 5 months, and Mush couldn’t have been happier. Now that the strike was over, everything seemed so, dare he say, perfect, he felt ready to burst with the goodness of it all.

They stumbled over the pavement, breaking away from the rest of the Manhattan newsies who were fanning out across their slice of the city. They were still laughing from the sheer excitement, and they slowed down to walk along the sidewalk. Blink looked over at him, smiling, his hair fluffed up under his hat and his cheeks flushed. Mush beamed back, just reveling in being able to look at the boy next to him. They were turning a corner onto another street when Blink glanced around quickly, then grabbed Mush’s wrist and tugged him into the closest alleyway. Mush raised an eyebrow, but let himself be led down the gap between the buildings.

“Where are ya going?” he asked Blink, still a little breathless. When they stopped several yards into the alley, Blink looked around again, dropped his stack of papes and then wove his arms around Mush’s waist and pulled him in for a kiss; it was hurried but sweet, and Mush pulled away after a moment.

“What was that for?” he laughed, dropping his papers too and putting own arms over Blink’s shoulders. The other boy shrugged.

“I dunno, I just… I’m real happy, is all. I wanted to kiss you.” Mush grinned at the slightly flustered boy in front of him.

“Are you sure you shouldn’t be the one named Mush.” he teased. Blink rolled his eye.

“Aw c’mon Mush, I just thought-” he never finished his sentence because Mush just laughed and shook his head and pulled him in and kissed him again.

**Racetrack & Spot**

Race smiled to himself as he counted up that days earnings as the cart he had hitched a ride on rumbled beneath him. He had lost 2 of his 3 bets that day, but he couldn’t even bring himself to care. The feeling of triumph from that morning still hadn’t worn off and he didn’t plan on losing it any time soon. It had been had been sunny all day, which meant there were plenty of people at the track to sell to, and Race had sold all of his papers in no time.

He was on his way back towards the bridge now, but he had no intention of crossing it just yet. Before he had left Manhattan that morning, Spot had pulled him aside, (or as much aside as he could manage in the crowd) and said “come to Brooklyn later”, which really meant “come see me later”. So there he was, in the back of a bridge-bound cart, counting the coins in his pocket. When the cart turned unexpectedly down a different street, away from the main drag that would take him up to the bridge, Race pocketed his money and leapt off the cart. After a moment of looking around and getting his bearings, he spotted a horse drawn carriage heading up the street took off running towards it. Thankfully it was only a few yards away, and he didn’t have to run very far before he jumped stealthily onto the back. It was usually better to exercise caution and when he was hitching a ride on an unfamiliar vehicle. It wasn’t like Charlie, the man who usually drove papes down to stands in Brooklyn who gave Race a ride almost every morning. More than once he had been pushed off a moving cart or carriage, and while that was all good and fun, he still preferred to not have to worry about that kind of thing.

After another few minutes, just before the carriage was going to pass onto the bridge, Race jumped off and started for the Brooklyn lodging house. Sidewalks gave away to wooden docks and crates and newsies jumping off the pier. They were enjoying the last few hours of daylight, swimming in the cold water of the bay. As he walked, Race waved to a few Brooklyn newsies he knew, smiling at them and teasing about their latest card game he had played with them. He felt that he had always been well-liked in Brooklyn, even the strike. He must have been if they kept letting him sell at Sheepshead. A few more moments and he was near Spot’s usual perch. There were no other newsies around and Race had a suspicion that Spot had asked for there not to be. The king himself was seated up on one of the highest crates, but when he saw Race standing below and looking up at him with shaded eyes, he grinned and leapt down, crate by crate, until the two boys were standing face to face.

“Look here, it’s Spot be nimble, Spot be quick.” Race teased, grinning back. Spot rolled his eyes but grabbed Race’s hand, tugged at it lightly and said “C’mon.” Race laughed a little and Spot led him along walkways and around piers and over stacks of boxes until they got to the Brooklyn lodging house. It was bigger than the Manhattan one, and was probably some sort of abandoned warehouse that was convenient and had the capacity to hold some 200 kids. There were a few newsies milling about outside and Spot let go of Race’s hand. Race tipped his hat to the boys outside and then waved to the kids inside when Spot led him through the front door, but they kept moving past them; Spot nodded to a few of them but didn’t say a word. Race knew where they were headed. In the back of the building there was a staircase that led up to a few small rooms on the second floor. One of them was a bathroom, the biggest one in the building, another was a simple room that was used for supplies, and the last was a room always reserved for the king of Brooklyn, which meant that ever since he took over, it had been Spot’s room.

Race followed him up the stairs, and no sooner than he had gently kicked the door closed behind them when Spot grabbed his hand again, pulled him close and kissed him. Race smiled against the other boys lips, his eyes fluttering shut and his hands coming to rest on Spot’s hips. When they pulled apart after a long moment Race smirked.

“Well if I knew that’s why ya wanted me in Brooklyn I woulda come sooner.” he said. Spot rolled his eyes again.

“You knew tha whole time.” Race kissed Spot’s cheek.

“I’se always been able to see right through ya, Spotty.” he said. He swayed himself back and forth, dancing along to no music at all. Spot arched an eyebrow, resting his hands on Race’s shoulders.

“What’re ya doin’.” he asked, though he too swayed slowly along with Race.

“Dancin’.” Race said simply, closing his eyes. He could almost hear Spot’s smirk.

“There ain’t any music.” he said. So Race started humming, a song that he had heard at Medda’s more times than he could count.

“You better not be hummin’ what I think you’re hummin’.” Spot said, and Race grinned, cracking open one eye.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin about.” he said, but stopped humming and opened both eyes. They stopped swaying to, just standing in the middle of the room and enjoying each other’s presence.

“Did ya see me in Roosevelt’s carriage, ridin’ away like some big shot.” Spot grinned, and Race laughed.

“Yeah, I saw ya.” he said, pushing Spot’s hat off his head and running his hands through the taller boy’s hair. “It suited ya.”

“Did it really?” Spot asked, and Race felt a rush of affection for him. It wasn’t often that Spot felt comfortable enough with him, or anyone for that matter, that he could let down his tough, “King of Brooklyn” facade. When he did though, Race had decided that he really, really liked the person Spot was underneath. It was incredibly endearing how Spot went from this intimidating presence to this softer persona that seemed more like the 14 year old he actually was.

“Yeah, yeah it did.” he replied.

“Well, guess I gotta do that sorta thing more often.” Spot said, and Race only responded with another kiss.

**Jack & David**

“So how’s it feel, being the leader of a successful strike?” Jack smiled over at David as the latter climbed out the window of the lodging house and onto the fire escape. He shrugged.

“I dunno, why don’t you tell me?” he said. David rolled his eyes as he sat down next to Jack, knocking their legs together.

“Smooth, very smooth, Jack.” he replied.

“No, really,” Jack insisted, looking over at David. “You practically led the whole thing. The only work I did was when I so much trouble they couldn’t ignore me no more.” David shook his head, but he was grinning now.

“Don’t sell yourself short. No one coulda motivated all those kids like you.”

“Oh yeah?” Jack asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” David said. “Whenever you talked, you could get them hanging on your every word.” He nudged Jack’s shoulder with his own. “A lot of them look up to you, y’know.” They fell into a comfortable silence for a moment. Jack watched smoke rise over the rooftops and drift away into the darkening sky. If he didn’t know any better, he could believe that nothing had ever happened that morning. But here he was, Jack Kelly, a hero among newsies. He was back in the lodging house, with his brothers and David at his side, and god was he glad.

When he had taken Pulitzer’s offer and become a scab, when he had faced the crowd of protesting newsies, the look of shock and heartbreak on all of their faces and torn Jack up. Nothing had hurt worse, thought, than David breaking apart from the crowd only to hiss that he and the newsies didn’t need Jack any more. And where David’s attempt to land a blow on Jack missed its mark, Race had succeeded. When he and David had come back to the lodging house to ask for help and Dave had called Race aside to come talk to them, the first thing the younger boy had done was deck Jack in the face. His jaw still ached where Race had clocked him.

David leaned over onto Jack, the both of them still in companionable silence until David spoke.

“Hey Jack?”

“Hmm.” Jack replied simply.

“I’m real glad you came back.” David murmured. Jack smiled.

“Yeah, so am I.” he said. Going to Santa Fe had been his dream for so long, it had just seemed like the only option after the strike. But the further away he had gotten from the newsies, the bigger a mistake it seemed until he couldn’t stand it. And the look on David’s face when Jack had walked over and looked up at him and grinned made it even more worth it than before.

David laughed lightly beside him, and Jack furrowed his brows.

“What?” he asked.

“You kissed Sarah.” he pointed out, grinning at Jack. Jack sputtered out a reply.

“And?” he stammered, folding his arms across his chest. “It seemed like the right thing to do!” he finished.

“Did you mean it?” David asked, arching an eyebrow. Jack stared back, feeling a bit like an idiot.

“What d’you mean ‘did I mean it’?” he deadpanned. David pursed his lips.

“You really like her?” he asked, and Jack threw his hands in the air.

“Jesus Dave, it’s not like we’re engaged!” he said. When he saw the look on David’s face, he ran a hand through his hair and continued.

“It was just kinda a spur of the moment kinda thing.” he explained. “Not that your sister ain’t great and all!” he rushed, and to his relief David let out a laugh.

“She and Les are glad you stayed, too.” he said and Jack snorted.

“Don’t I know it.” For the entire day following that morning’s triumph, all three of the Jacobs siblings had clung to him as if they were afraid he was going to sprout wings and fly to Santa Fe. Les had even almost started crying when he lost sight of Jack for a few minutes without warning and Jack had felt so bad he let the kid lead him around by his sleeve for the rest of the day.

“I’m sorry I made you think I was leaving.” he said quietly to David, and the other boy sighed.

“It wouldn’t have been the first time.” he replied, and Jack huffed a soft, guilty laugh.

“I’m sorry for that, too.” he said, then shrugged. “Pulitzer threatened you, I didn’t think I had any other choice.” David blinked up at him, his blue eyes widening slightly.

“Jack… you did that for me?” he asked, and Jack looked down at him, at the boy who had tripped and stumbled into Jack’s life. Who had joined him on a mad quest to take on the most powerful man in the city without asking for anything in return. This brilliant, wonderful boy who had earned his nickname of The Walking Mouth because he could speak up for the strike when Jack couldn’t. Jack swallowed.

“I know it’s not what you woulda wanted me to do, but I was real afraid he was gonna-“ and then David was curling a fist into the bandana still tied around Jack’s neck and pulling him down and into a kiss. Jack’s eyes stayed open for a few moments out of pure shock before he closed them, but when he did and kissed back, David let out a little sigh and practically melted into his arms. When they separated, Jack brought his hands up to cup David’s face. The curly haired boy leaned into the touch, closing his eyes and smiling as Jack kissed the corner of his mouth.

“I’m real glad I didn’t leave.” Jack said, and David’s laugh was cut off by another kiss.


End file.
